


Zen Navigation

by greycedetective



Series: Masks & Myths [1]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Body Shaming, Brotzly - Freeform, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Douglas Adams quotes, Eating Disorders, Emotional Abuse, Gaslighting, I'm sure I have no idea who you're talking about, M/M, Narcissism, Pararibulitis (Dirk Gently), References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Suicidal Ideation, The Hobbit quotes, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, any resemblance to persons living or dead purely coincidental, dark!Assistent, mentions rape, potential eating disorder trigger, seriously this guy is a bastard, ultimately a broztly fic I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27139843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greycedetective/pseuds/greycedetective
Summary: Dirk has found a man he didn't know he was looking for.  Now it's up to Farah, Todd, Mona, and an unexpected ally to save him.
Relationships: Lieutenant Assistent & Dirk Gently, Lieutenant Assistent/Dirk Gently, Todd Brotzman & Dirk Gently, Todd Brotzman/Dirk Gently
Series: Masks & Myths [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021765
Comments: 25
Kudos: 27





	1. Perfectly Paranormal Paranoia

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story months ago as “Extraordinary Genius and Naïve Incompetence.” Then some time happened to me. When I came back to it, I knew it was all wrong for where the story would go. I’ve since gone back and tweaked the tags, but left it up in case anyone had a nagging suspicion they’d heard a similar premise and wondered if it’s lifted from somewhere. It is. I graciously gave myself permission to nick my own idea, just this once.

> _He had a tremendous propensity for getting lost when driving. This was largely because of his method of ‘Zen’ navigation, which was simply to find any car that looked as if it knew where it was going and follow it. The results were more often surprising than successful, but he felt it was worth it for the sake of the few occasions when it was both._
> 
> **Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul**

* * *

**_FOUND A MAN. WILL BRING HIM BY SOON._**

Todd stretched diagonally across the velvet blue sofa like a melted starfish, holding his phone over his head as he read the text.

“Dirk says he found someone,” he announced to Farah (and presumably somewhere in the office, Mona).

Farah glanced away from her computer screen only long enough to make eye contact, then went back to her accounting. “New case?”

“I guess. Let’s hope it’s a real missing person this time and not someone he thinks might go missing someday.” He paused to shoot off a reply.

**_cool_ **

**_C U when U get here_ **

“He’s lucky the last one didn’t press charges,” Farah said. “I never thought I’d have to tell anyone that you can’t scoop up a woman in her twenties off the street without explanation and take her to a warehouse ‘for safekeeping.’”

Todd chuckled. “Yeah, well. Luckily everyone who meets Dirk knows something’s off about him. I ever tell you I thought he was an alien at first?”

“Many times.” Farah pointed to the screen, her Serious Face in play. “I need to finish this, especially if Dirk’s bringing in a new case. Who knows when we’ll have a free moment again.”

“Think we need to pack?”

“If we needed to pack, we’d already be packed. Hush and let me work.”

Todd put away his phone and went back to staring at nothing as he wondered what startling thing or person Dirk would drag back to the office. He had a habit of looking for cases the way a horror movie character sprints away from the inescapable ooze monster. He liked to powerwalk around downtown Seattle using holistic navigation, which meant finding people who looked like they knew where they were going and following them until they went inside a building or threatened violence. It was a tossup whether he’d return to the office with a shiner, a case, a stray potted plant he’d plucked from someone’s living room window, or a takeout menu from a lovely little out-of-the-way café nobody’d ever heard of. On one notable occasion it was all four plus a towel.

Farah had finished her paperwork and was re-re-re-organizing the contents of her gun safe when Dirk returned. Todd looked up from an old paperback he’d found at the bottom of a file cabinet, a collection of heartburn-inducingly bad poetry by someone called P.V. Jeltz. He put it in the “torture tools” drawer for future use.

Next to Dirk in the doorframe was a slight, dark-haired man about Todd’s height. He wore a subdued canvas jacket over dark slacks. Despite his sharp features, he had an approachable boyishness. Todd couldn’t help but return his warm, bright-eyed smile. Not another abductee, then, thank goodness.

“Guys,” Dirk announced with glee, “let me introduce my new _assistant_.” He threw the emphasis oddly. “Todd, Farah, this is Michael.”

“Hi,” Farah offered, glancing around the door of the gun safe. She crammed a lot of scrutiny into the greeting.

Todd crossed the room, arm extended for a welcoming handshake. “Hey man, c’mon in.” Dirk beamed as the two clasped hands.

“So, what’s your story?” Todd asked.

“Great to meet you,” Michael said as they entered the office together. “I actually know Dirk from Black Wing. I bumped into him by chance this morning.”

“Oh! Wow. Okay,” Farah said, some of her stiffness easing. She leaned a hip against the nearest desk, arms crossed and head tilted. She’d even stopped squinting.

Todd motioned for Michael to take a seat on the couch as Dirk flitted off to the office kitchen to put the kettle on. “No kidding? Not ‘by chance,’ then, I guess. You’re one of the other Projects? Like Dirk and the Rowdies?”

Michael didn’t strike him as the type, but who was Todd to argue with the Universe? Dirk was one of the more normal Holistics that Todd had met, though in all fairness he hadn’t gotten to know Francis terribly well before they left Wendimoor. Each of them was different, certainly, and yet they all shared a brokenness that no doubt had something to do with growing up in an “enhanced interrogation” lab. Every time Todd thought about it his heart ached for them. Even Bart. 

Maybe Bart most of all, come to think of it.

Michael’s bright smile broadened. “Oh no, nothing like that. I don’t have any psychic powers or anything.”

“ _Not_ psychic,” Dirk insisted from the other room. He peeked into office from the kitchen doorway. “He was one of my keepers, actually. Sorry I didn’t introduce you all properly. This is Lieutenant Michael Assistent. He helped Corporal Friedkin run the experiments.”

Todd’s eyebrows were unable to decide whether to clench together in anger or shoot up in surprise, leaving him with a goggled, constipated expression. Pronouncing “lieutenant” with a mystifying ‘f’ in the middle was only the third weirdest thing Dirk had just said.

Farah drew her gun and aimed it at Assistent’s heart.

Dirk held his breath.

“Totally understandable response,” Assistent said slowly, hands raised shoulder-high for Farah to see. His posture was straight-backed but relaxed. “I can explain, or Dirk can, or I can leave. Your space, your rules. I hope you’ll give me a chance, though.” 

Farah didn’t lower the gun, concrete gaze steady on her target. She waited.

Todd inched away from Michael. He didn’t want to lose another shirt to blood splatter. Two in a month was the limit.

“Farah?” Dirk eased toward her with a hunched, I’m-placating-a-ravenous-mountain-lion gesture. “We’re safe. I promise you.”

“Don’t make breakable promises,” Farah muttered. “People don’t change.”

A vague awareness of nails digging into his palm cued Todd to unclench his fists a little.

Michael opened his eyes more widely, silently asking permission to speak. Otherwise he sat stock still. Farah inclined her head toward him a fraction of a millimeter.

“I joined Black Wing because I thought I’d get to see aliens or something. They don’t exactly tell other departments what’s going on in there. I had no idea what they were doing until I’d been there over a week,” he said. “And then after the thing with the knights – and Hugo’s death – I got out as fast as I could.” He smiled a little on one side of his mouth, glaze casually sliding over to Dirk. A light smile bloomed on his face. “I’d _hoped_ I’d run into Dirk again, so I came up this way just in case. I’ve been in town about a year.”

“Dirk?” Todd asked. “Not ‘Icarus’ or ‘Svlad’? I thought you Black Wing types call him that.” He shifted against the back of the couch to scratch a slithering itch that was crawling along his spine.

“Those aren’t his name.”

“He helped Mona and I escape when I went to retrieve Francis. I think maybe he was _meant_ to be there. For that reason.” Dirk said. Then, more firmly, “Farah, please stop pointing your gun at my date.”

Farah dropped the gun a few inches so that she could murder him with her eyeballs instead. “ _Date_?”

“I’ve invited Dirk to join me and some friends this evening.” Michael lowered his hands, keeping them in sight by laying them on his lap. His voice was soft. “I’d love it if you two could come along as well. You’ll like our little group.”

Working her jaw without subtlety, Farah put the gun back in its holster. She was taut muscle from hair to bootlaces, the features of her face ticking almost at random as she processed. “They just let you _leave_ Black Wing? And the CIA?”

“Ah, well. Secret’s out, I’m afraid. My aunt is a major-general with close contacts nearly everywhere. She was able to finesse it.”

Farah grunted. Todd screamed.

Acidic pain shot down Todd’s arm to his fingers and up into his shoulder, radiating into his body from the fangs of an enormous black snake. It hung from his bicep where it had bitten deep into the muscle. His nose and mouth felt like he had inhaled a lungful of burning plastic fumes. Droplets of blood pearled around the point where its venom was entering his body. “ _Snake_ ,” he whispered. He trembled, his whole awareness filled with oily black scales and shiny, reptilian eyes. 

“It’s an attack.” Farah dashed for Todd’s seldom-used desk. “His meds are in here. Hang on, Todd, we’ve got this. You’re going to be okay.” She flung open the drawer to rummage through the usual office flotsam of empty chip bags, expired takeout coupons, sugarless cough drops, and unsharpened pencils.

“Wait,” Michael commanded.

Everyone stared. 

Well, not the snake. But everyone else.

“Todd,” Michael said, voice steady and parental, “take the snake off your arm.”

“It’s not real, obviously!” Todd yelled. “Look, I don’t have time to explain but I’m in a _lot_ of pain and I _need_ my pills.”

“It’s real,” Michael said, “to you. Which means _you_ are real to _it._ Grab it behind the jaw until it lets go, then place it on the ground.”

“Farah! _Dirk!_ For _FUCK’S sake_ someone help me here.” Electric fire was creeping outward from the bite, leaving a paralytic, nails-and-staples feeling behind it as it went. Todd didn’t dare to think about what would happen when the venom reached his heart.

Michael held out an arm, blocking Todd’s friends from getting closer. “Todd. It’s _your_ snake. Take it. It’s already biting you. The poison is already in your arm. Things aren’t going to get worse. Start with this: give it a name.”

Todd’s panic was approaching terminal speed. “What the _fuck_? Are you serious?!”

“Do it.” Michael’s voice was final, assertive. Calming.

“Uh. Um, …Bob…?”

“Fine. Well done. Send Bob on his way, then we’ll deal with the poison.”

Todd’s limbs were sluggish and shaky. He was certain that any minute he’d be buried under a mountain of black snakes, or that this one would grow to twenty feet long, or his arm would blow up from instant-onset gangrene, or –

“Stay in the moment,” Michael said, “keep control.”

“Okay.” Todd breathed out between his teeth and reached awkwardly around the snake. “Okay,” he repeated. “Here goes.”

He was surprised that the snake didn’t strike his other hand as he grabbed it. He was doubly shocked when it let go of his arm without a fight. “ _Holy shit,_ ” he whispered. Bob dangled loosely in his grip, unperturbed. 

“Okay, now put Bob on the ground and tell him to go home. Doesn’t have to be out loud. He’s _your_ snake, remember. Will him to leave.”

Todd did. And it _did_. He gaped as it winded its way around the desks and out the office door.

“Good. Now. Push the venom toward the wound. Push it out of your body.”

Unable to work up any more incredulity, Todd did just that. Using his hand like a squeegee, he scraped his opposite hand upward from his fingertips. A bolus of something gathered under his skin as he went. Viscous, bilious fluid oozed out of the bloody wounds and down his elbow, disappearing as it dripped into the couch. Todd gagged.

“Almost there. You’re doing excellently. Get rid of the rest.”

It’s truly remarkable how quickly the brain adapts to weirdness. Todd pressed and smoothed the remaining venom away from his chest, jaw, neck, and shoulder. It exited his body, the wounds closing up behind the last of the poison as it left him. Todd sighed so hard he nearly passed out. Cottony silence descended on the room.

“It’s. Um. That’s not -- wait, _what_?” Farah asked at last. Todd was still staring at himself, unable to rejoin reality just yet. 

“Pararibulitis isn’t a disease. Not really. It’s a holistic hallucination.” Michael put a light hand on Todd’s uninjured arm. “You can’t control when they appear, Todd. But you _can_ choose how you respond to them. If you fight them, you’re vulnerable to them. If you accept them, they’re yours to use as you see fit.”

“Oh, of _course_. Stupid Dirk, I should’ve realized that ages ago.” He crossed the office and knelt down to peer directly into Todd’s face. “Are you okay now? You’re not hurt?” He placed one hand on Todd’s knee, the other overtop Michael’s where it still sat on Todd’s arm. Todd leant back a bit, overcrowded and overwhelmed.

“Yeah, actually. I, uh. That was amazing. Thank you.”

“How did you know what to do?” Farah asked.

Michael patted Todd on the shoulder, stood, and offered a hand to Dirk to help him stand as well. “We had files on all of you, of course, especially after Dirk escaped. It was Ken – Supervisor Adams, he’s new – who put together information we had on past subjects with Todd and Amanda’s diagnoses. Something Friedkin never understood was that these things have a will of their own.”

“The Universe,” Dirk interjected. “The Stream of Creation.”

“That’s as good a metaphor as any. The Universe has a direction that it will take you in. It’s swimming against the Stream that tires you out and injures you.”

“So, like, I should go with the flow?” Todd asked, giddy from tottering between relief and hysteria.

“Precisely,” Dirk said, proudly. “Go with the flow. Which reminds me, won’t you join us tonight at the bar? It’s going to be loads of fun. You _like_ fun, Todd!”

Todd smiled and looked at Farah. Her face was unreadable. 

“We wouldn’t miss it,” she said in a monotone.

* * *

“I don’t like him,” Farah said, watching through the large office windows to be sure Dirk and Michael had exited the building. “I don’t trust him at _all_. Dirk’s in danger.”

Todd joined her. On the pavement below, Michael was laughing so hard he almost tripped. Dirk was animatedly rambling about something. “You know Dirk. The Universe keeps him safe. He’ll be fine. Besides, the guy talked me out of a pararibulitis attack. That’s a weird way of being villainous if that’s his angle.”

Farah shook her head. “Let’s keep a close eye on things tonight. Something’s not right.”

* * *

It was just shy of nine o’clock when Todd and Farah entered the bar. Er, arcade…? ….or was it some kind of installation art? The place defied categorization. It was vast and impossibly colorful, looking for all the world like a carnival calliope and the Gene Wilder-era Willy Wonka Factory had had a drunken misadventure to produce this hipsterian wet dream of a barcade. 

Todd thought he’d seen every variant of “people hang out here to drink” during his Mexican Funeral days. They’d played a lot of trippy dives over the years. This, however, was another level altogether. Todd felt like he was in a Las Vegas zoo exhibit designed by someone who only had a vague, hearsay idea of what kinds of things Kids These Days enjoyed. Like the drawings European artists used to do of animals they’d never seen, only heard described by sailors who’d gone delusional from long months at sea. 

It smelled like cotton candy and looked like a _blast_.

Farah paused inside the doorway only long enough to spot Dirk and Michael at a table past the far end of the bar, close to a cavern of vintage arcade games. She dragged Todd along by the sleeve of his denim jacket, his brain having shut down from too much visual input. When his eyes finally stopped ping-ponging off the walls, he saw Michael holding court in the middle of about a dozen people. Each person in the group was striking. Dirk, normally several times more interesting, lissome, and incandescent than anyone else, looked precisely like he belonged among them. He beamed to outshine the entire room. Michael’s hand was settled low on Dirk’s back as Dirk tipped his head ever-so-slightly toward his date, as if listening to a silent whispered nothing. Todd’s heart romped a few laps around his mouth before settling in his shoes. It was just as well Farah was piloting or he probably would’ve turned tail for the door.

Michael spotted them first. He held up a hand to pause the conversation a moment. The speaker, a dizzyingly tall woman with the kind of silver-blonde hair that only Scandinavians can grow, fell silent and followed his gaze. Then she waved so enthusiastically that it was impossible not to smile and wave in return. Farah barely even looked like she was faking.

“Put on your stage face,” she said to Todd in a low voice. “I need you to be the outgoing one tonight so that I can watch Michael closely.”

Todd smiled as broadly as his face would allow, slipping a little rustily into his _Todd Brotzman, Alt-Rock Front Man_ persona. “So I’m the good cop?” He rolled his shoulders to try to let go of some tension.

“You’re the good _friend_.” 

“Hey Dirk, Hey Michael,” Todd said, not bothering to point out that if he was the _good_ friend, then Farah, well, _wasn’t_.

“You made it!” Dirk beamed. 

“Glad you could join us.” Michael gestured warmly to them to come close, as if scooping them into the clique. “Folks, meet Farah and Todd. They’re friends of Dirk’s.”

A murmur of cheerful greetings went around the circle. Michael stood, arm sliding up Dirk’s back to his shoulder. “I’m headed to the bar. Get you another drink, beautiful?” he asked. 

Todd heard his own teeth grinding and willed himself to chill before he broke another filling. He was getting tired of the dentist’s lectures about stress management.

“I’ll go with you,” Farah said. “Todd, beer?”

“Great, yeah, thanks.”

Half a dozen conversations sprang up almost instantly, so Todd turned to Dirk. “Look at this place, huh?”

“Isn’t it marvelous? Jeremy was beating us all at skeeball just before you arrived.” A friendly-looking man with Asiatic features glanced up at the sound of his name, winking at Dirk before returning to his own conversation. “We should get carnival games for the office,” Dirk said. “Ooh! And a barker for the front door.”

“Farah would kill us.”

“Not if it brings in a client. I bet I could convince her. What if all this time we’ve been missing out on fairground-related cases?”

Todd chuckled. “So,” he leaned with his back against the hightop table, elbows resting on the edge. “You’re having a good time, then?”

“Never better. Truly.” Dirk was all warmth and light. Todd’s guts ached. 

“New jacket?” It looked expensive, supple black leather that contrasted perfectly with Dirk’s skin.

“Yes, it is! Michael got it for me as a gift, said it shows off my pretty neck. I didn’t even know I had a pretty neck, did you, Todd?”

“Uh. Hm. _So_ , these seem like really cool people,” Todd tried, hoping to tap into Dirk’s enthusiasm about potential new friends as a distraction tactic. The way he accepted people unconditionally was one of his innumerable excellent qualities.

Dirk looked like he was going to bubble over. “You’ve no idea. Belinda there, the redhead? She’s a model.”

“Jeez, no joke.”

“Tony and Jim are voice actors. Kevin is their manager. Elise, the tall blonde, is a standup comedian.” Dirk went on to point out everyone else, but Todd’s attention span was already at capacity. Still, it was impossible not to notice that nobody seemed average. A hedge fund manager, a game designer with a top tech company, a novelist whose name he very nearly recognized, a biotech researcher, even a real, honest-to-Bob brain surgeon. Not a clerk, dropout, bartender, or bellhop among them.

“And these are all Michael’s friends?”

“Well, Kevin, Belinda, and Maurice are his exes, but we’re all friends now.”

Todd hoped his poker face was believable. “Wow, that’s –”

“Hello darling!” Dirk accepted something clear and glittery from Michael, who’d slipped in behind him like a shadow. Flecks of neon reflected and refracted in the glass, like a cup full of twinkly party lights.

 _‘Darling’ already?_ Todd thought. It made sense, though, given how quickly Dirk latched onto people. Maybe Michael was the same, considering the pricey gift.

Farah jammed a pint of something reddish-brownish into Todd’s view. He saluted her by raising the glass a little before he took a pull. Not bad. Not dive bar beer, for sure. One of the many perks of living in Seattle: the beer and coffee were seldom subpar. He was into his second sip when he realized that everyone had gone silent when Michael reappeared.

“I was just giving Todd the overview of who everyone is,” Dirk said, unaware of the unnatural pause in conversation.

“What do you do, Todd?” The redhead – Belinda? – asked.

“As little as possible, if I’m honest.” He was rewarded with a handful of genuine chuckles. “I work with Dirk. We both do.” He gestured to Farah, who was scrutinizing everyone over the rim of what looked like a lager. He hoped she’d keep the power stares to a minimum. 

“Dirk runs a private detective agency,” Michael said. “He’s spectacular at it. Takes only the most baffling cases and solves what no one else can. He’s amazing.” 

Dirk looked fit to bust a shirt button.

Todd shifted from foot to foot. “We didn’t mean to interrupt earlier,” he said. “Please, feel free to continue with whatever you all were talking about before we arrived.”

“Elise was telling us about the most recent time she almost died,” one of the men said with a fond smirk.

“ _She nearly dies nearly every day_ ,” the novelist stage-whispered behind her hand, eliciting a round of laughs.

“MEANWHILE,” Elise interrupted in a playful tone, “I am in misery here. Aila and I did the ‘One Chip Challenge’ at lunch, have you heard of it? It’s the hottest chip in the world. It is now working its way toward the exit and I’m _dying_. I mean, you all definitely should try it. But, like, emotionally prepare yourself for the follow-through.”

“I’ve heard ice cream can help with spicy food,” Todd offered.

“Go with sherbet,” said a short, black-haired woman in a pantsuit. “Lime can help with spicy food, too.”

“You say that,” Elise replied, “but I was already planning to take some sherbet and, uh. Apply it externally.”

“ _This girl is on fire!_ ” A man with expensive jeans and gaunt cheeks sang over the raucous laughter. Todd thought it might’ve been the guy Dirk pointed out as Maurice.

It was easy to understand how Elise had become a comedian, Todd thought. _Stage presence and poop jokes, always a failsafe combo_. She wasn’t using it as a stand-in for personality, though, like some did. She had a geniality in her voice that Todd liked immensely.

The game designer – an energetic-looking gal with long, curly blue hair – elbowed Jim in the arm. “Hey, you get that flu shot today? You said you were going, _finally_.”

“ _Yes_. And I’ll have you know,” he smirked and leaned in toward the group as if sharing a secret. “they didn’t even give me a lollipop. I had to go buy my own! Scandalous. I made sure to express my displeasure.”

“Naturally,” Kevin chimed in.

“ _And!_ The pain was excruciating. I practically had to limp home. Honestly, I’m just happy to be alive.”

The game designer’s good-natured smile broadened. “And yet you didn’t care that I just elbowed you right in the arm.”

“… … _Upon closer inspection_ ,” he affected a theatrical, wounded expression, “I feel totally fine and there’s a nonzero chance that I _may_ have been overreacting slightly.”

“Just north of melodramatic, yes.” Her giggles were infectious. Todd could see Farah stifling a laugh behind her glass.

“Anyone for another round of skeeball?” Jeremy asked as the guffaws died down, eliciting a collective groan.

“I was thinking,” Dirk suggested, “We might grab some pizza, if anyone wants to share? I saw it on the menu. Sounded like just the thing.” His voice was half an octave too high, the way it got when he’d been drinking a while. Food was probably a good idea, if so.

Todd had his mouth open to accept the offer when Farah squeezed his shoulder. She gripped overhanded, so tightly that he had to take a deep breath in to avoid yelping. The pause gave him time to notice a silent shift in the group dynamic. The sociable, easygoing expressions around him had all petrified into something more like a grotesque vignette of grinning wax figures. A few made sidelong eye contact without turning their heads.

One too many beats later, everyone began murmuring at once.

“What do you say we go check out the rest of the arcade?”

“Anyone want a water? I’m headed up to the bar.”

“You know, I probably ought to get back and let the dog out.”

“I hate to ditch this early, but I’ve had a long day and I’m beat.”

“Did you say the bathrooms were over that way?”

Todd leaned back, his now-throbbing shoulder coming to rest against Farah’s. He could feel her shaking her head almost compulsively, like an audience member who’s mentally barreling toward interrupting the lecture. He spoke up before she had a chance.

“Hey, Michael, thanks again for inviting us. These are some great people you hang out with.” He hoped he sounded sincere. A few folks were gathering their coats and his own flight impulse was growing insistent, though he couldn’t put a finger on why. “Listen, we’ve got a ton of paperwork to catch up on in the morning so I think we’re gonna cut out. Stop by again any time, though, hey?”

Todd did his best to keep his voice steady without letting on that he could see Dirk’s hurt, baffled body language over Michael’s shoulder. He turned his head before he shifted his gaze, giving Dirk time to plaster on a vibrant fake smile. “See you tomorrow, buddy, okay? Be safe getting home. Text me when you reach?”

“Brilliant. Yes, definitely. Will do, absolutely.” Dirk’s eyes weren’t focused correctly, giving the impression that he was staring at Todd’s jaw rather than listening.

Farah leaned in, pointedly looking Michael in the eye as she plonked her empty pint glass onto the table. “Text me too. I need to know you’ve gotten in alright. Not too late, though, ‘kay? We’ve got work to do tomorrow.”

“Yup,” Dirk said, making a popping sound on the ‘p.’ Todd was pretty sure he hadn’t heard.

**

“That was weird,” he said once they were a few blocks away. Brisk October night air that smelled of woodsmoke and wet leaves caused them to walk more quickly than usual.

“What the hell just happened?” Farah asked. “It’s like Dirk broke some weird cult rule. Over _pizza_?”

“Maybe Michael’s mother was killed by a runaway pizza truck.”

“Funny.”

“Stranger things have happened.” Todd sighed and shrugged. “Stranger things have happened to _Dirk._ Hell, at least three stranger things have probably happened to him since lunch. At least maybe things won’t pan out with this guy.” 

Farah took a long time to respond. “I don’t think he’s going to let Dirk go,” she said at last.

* * *

> _“All through my life I've had this strange unaccountable feeling that something was going on in the world, something big, even sinister, and no one would tell me what it was."_
> 
> _"No," said the old man, "that's just perfectly normal paranoia. Everyone in the Universe has that.”_
> 
> **Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy **


	2. The Lovers, The Dreamers, and Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW/TW for mentions of an abusive relationship, eating disorders, & sexual assault. The next chapter after this one will be emotionally difficult in its descriptions of an abusive relationship (vs this chapter, where it's mentioned in passing), so please take a lap or two if you need to.

> _Human beings, who are almost unique in having the ability to learn from the experience of others, are also remarkable for their apparent disinclination to do so._
> 
> _  
> _**Douglas Adams, Last Chance to See**

* * *

The office was still warming up when Todd shambled in and plopped himself down on top of his desk. As he sat, a derelict stack of papers sloughed off, suddenly interested to see what the floor was up to.

“Dirk text you last night?” he asked.

Farah had, naturally, been in over an hour earlier. The office smelled of fresh coffee and lemon cleaner, which helped to chase away the dampness of the grey morning. “Yeah. I’m guessing he left almost immediately after we did. You got one, too, I hope?”

“Yeah.” Todd absently ran his thumbs over his fingernails, checking for rough edges that might need biting. “I guess things ended between them on an okay note. He said Michael complimented his ‘perfect posture.’”

Farah leaned back in her expensive desk chair. She was the only one with a decent chair; Todd never sat on anything properly and Dirk never sat. Mona was just as likely to _be_ a chair. Which, come to think of it, might explain some things.

“He told me that he’d try to be in early today. So we might see him by noon.”

Todd chuckled. He headed for the kitchen. “Thanks for making coffee. I slept like crap last night.”

“Thought you might.”

“What? Why?” Todd debated adding cream or sugar, then settled on keeping it black and grabbing a packet of cookies out of the snack cupboard. For the first few weeks Dirk had tried making them all breakfast (or rather, a late lunch) when he got to work. The meals would have been gourmet, if enthusiasm were edible. As it was, they agreed as a group that the only food in the office kitchen from then on would be takeout or prepack. After that food tended to appear more or less at random. Todd assumed Farah was buying it. Farah assumed Todd was buying it. Dirk didn’t think about it at all.

“Just a hunch,” she said.

“ _Excellent_ work, Farah! What’s your hunch?” Dirk asked, just shy of skipping through the doorway a full four hours earlier than expected.

“Dirk!” Todd said, a little too loudly. “You’re here early.”

“I told Farah I would be. Farah, didn’t you tell Todd I’d be in?”

She frowned, scrutinizing his face. “Did _you_ sleep at all last night?”

“Oh yes, loads. Dropped right off.” He held up a finger as he checked his phone. “Positively gasping for some tea, though, if you’ll excuse me a moment.”

Dirk dashed into the kitchen so fast that he knocked into Todd. Large, steadying hands grasped Todd’s biceps to keep him from spilling his coffee. Todd swallowed hard.

“Thanks. What, uh.” He stepped away just enough to give himself some space without it seeming like an insult. “What’s the occasion? You’re never here this early.”

“Yes, well, early bird gets the worm and all that. Didn’t you say last night that we had paperwork to get a jump on?” He filled the kettle, popped it on the stove, and glanced at his phone.

“Yeah, I mean, but. It’s just one of those things you say to get out of social obligations when you want to leave,” Todd said, slurping a bitter mouthful of coffee. He winced, more from realizing what he’d said than from the taste.

“Oh.” Dirk slumped against a counter. He paid a great deal of attention to the floor, then the clock, then some invisible fluff on his new jacket. “Yes, I see. Right.”

“No, Dirk, what I meant was that we were tired. Farah’s not exactly party people, you know?”

“I am not party people,” Farah affirmed from the other room.

Todd smiled and ducked his head into Dirk’s field of view. “See? We had a good time. We’d love to do it again sometime.”

Dirk checked his phone. “Yes, of course,” he said, tone flat.

Todd bumped him with an elbow, doing his best to seem chummy and calm. “Now, for breakfast. Poptart? Or I think there’s some waffles in the freezer if you’d prefer.”

Dirk paused too long. “Do you know, actually, now that I think about it I’m going to walk down to that café we found in the marketplace – the one with the fairy lights and the, ah, _muffins_ with lemon curd?”

“My god, you’re such a cliché." Todd smirked. "You’re going to the crumpet shop.”

Dirk flushed. “Yes, I think you teased me quite enough about it at the time.”

Todd put down his mug.

“Why don’t I come with you? I can talk you into getting the one with cheese that you were eyeballing last time. Did you end up getting dinner last night? You must be starving.”

The sound of Dirk dropping his phone made Todd jump. Dirk scooped it up, checking all around the edges and on the screen to make sure nothing was out of place.

“Did I eat dinner?” He put the phone back in his pocket, keeping a hand wrapped around it. His face was hard to read. “I’m sure I must’ve done. Really must be going, though, cases aren’t going to find themselves. You can, erm. You stay here, in case Farah needs…. anything.”

Dirk strode out of the office, waving briefly as he went. Farah slowly raised a confused hand in return.

The kettle whistled a minute later.

* * *

It was more than a week before they saw Dirk again. He checked in occasionally by text with bland excuses, never more than a handful of words at a time. Todd continued to message him daily to check in. Farah watched closely as he did, giving him the impression that she wanted to ask something. Mostly she pressed her lips together and shot him worried looks when she thought he wasn’t looking.

It was a surprise, then, when Dirk floated into the office on a sunny Thursday afternoon. Todd had been pretending to fill out forms while Farah corrected them in earnest. Like working on a ship, running a holistic detective agency seemed to involve unpredictable periods of life-threatening frenzy followed by weeks of brain-meltingly dull drudgery that mostly consisted of rearranging things into whatever configuration was most likely to keep them from drifting off course.

“ _Hey_ guys!” Dirk chirped. “What are we up to today?” He gave no sign of awareness that having all but disappeared for a week was odd. Then again, Todd supposed, Dirk’s threshold for odd must be astronomical.

“ _We_ are filling out fourth quarter tax forms,” Farah said, shutting the laptop she’d been working on. “What have _you_ been up to?”

“This and that,” Dirk said, “looking for clues and leads, that sort of thing. Listen, I’ve got an invitation for you. The Rainbow Connection are throwing a masquerade for Halloween. Be my plus two?”

“ _Rainbow Connection_?” Todd couldn’t keep a hint of derision out of his voice. He loved Kermit as much as the next guy, but that was a little silly even for him.

“Masquerade?” Farah asked, sitting up straight. Her eyes twinkled. “A real one?”

“Michael’s friends. Their little group, that’s what they call themselves.” Dirk beamed. “His idea, actually. Isn’t it clever? And yes, a real masquerade, fancy dress and everything.”

“I’ve _always_ wanted to go to one!” Farah said. Todd could see her building costumes in her head, no doubt variations of some superhero badass or other.

“So, uh,” he was terrible at sounding casual, but Dirk never seemed to notice. “Have you been in touch with Michael, then?”

“I have, actually! I’d started to think maybe I’d upset him somehow, but then just this morning I received the invite.” He pulled a gold embossed card from the inside pocket of the jacket Michael had gotten him. On the envelope were three names: Dirk’s in giant, loopy letters, Todd’s and Farah’s in smaller, blocky letters.

“So wait,” Todd said, “you haven’t heard from him at all since last week? No dates or whatever, no phone calls?”

“No, well, I’m sure he’s very busy. Besides, isn’t it the done thing to wait a few days after the first date?”

“Three days,” Todd said, “and it’s stupid. You’re not some coquettish 1950s teen waiting for a macho beau to ask you to the big game.”

“Aren’t I, though?” Dirk batted his eyelashes and fanned himself exaggeratedly with the invitation, legs crossed at the knee as he sat on the edge of Farah’s desk. Todd snorted.

Farah patted him on the knee, “Alright, Sandra Dee, as long as you’re happy.”

* * *

“I thought you weren’t party people,” Todd said, adjusting his cloak. Farah and Mona had helped him wax everything they could modestly reach, leaving him itchy and a bit chilly. He thought the overall effect was worth it, though, when paired with a white chiton, bleached hair, and a gilded bow. He’d spent nearly an hour getting the gold guyliner just right and admiring his new blond curls in the mirror.

“Masquerades aren’t parties,” Farah countered. “They’re grand events. I love grandeur.” She fixed a mask across her eyes, the silver-white faux marble pattern making her skin and hair look all the more glorious for the contrast. Three yellow apples hung from the belt around her loose tunic, a six-foot spear in her hand. She’d turned down Todd’s suggestion of going as an Amazonian as “too obvious and cliché,” choosing instead to be someone called Atalanta. Not having the firmest grasp on mythology, he took her at her word when she assured him that Atalanta was a hero famous for her aim and speed. His costume had sprung from hers by sticking to the Greek theme.

Music thumped out the door to greet them on the street as they approached. It bolstered him to have Farah there, Todd mused. She was tough and strong physically, sure, but more importantly she was his backbone for the night. Somewhere along the line she must have figured out whom his heart was tuned to and, with perhaps a bit too much obvious relief, had suggested they continue on as friends. In the year since she’d never said anything, peppering him instead with Supportive Looks from time to time.

Todd put his own mask on as they climbed the steps. It covered his right eye and the left half of his face with radiant swirls of honey-colored sparkles. Slipping it over his face was like taking on a shimmery new self. No wonder people loved masquerade balls. There was something mysterious and sexy about dropping his usual self in favor of a gleaming new persona for the night. Through the door he could see two jesters leaning against a column as they chatted happily.

Once inside, Todd and Farah stopped to take in the ballroom. There had to be close to two hundred people, all in extravagant costumes and masks. Gowns, loincloths, gods, exotic devils, statues, animals, nobles, skeletons, strongmen, southern belles, and others that were no less bold or lavish for being unnamable. Todd was sure he’d never seen so many fake feathers in one place before. It was mesmerizing. Farah was so speechless with glee that he couldn’t help but smile at her contagious joy. No matter how weird or awkward it was to be attending a party thrown by Dirk’s shiny new friends – shiny new _boyfriend_ , Todd forced himself to admit – seeing Farah enjoy herself this much was worth it.

The room was longer than it was wide, with high ceilings and a long bar on either side. A staircase leading to an empty stage dais was at the far end, red and yellow uplights illuminating it so brightly it was almost hard to look at. A decoration that looked like a golden chariot sat to one side, reins slung casually over the edge.

The music was hard not to bop to. Todd found himself nodding along to the beat as they wound their way toward the back. Spotting anyone they knew would be all but impossible, meaning they might as well start by having a look around. He grinned broadly at everyone as they settled against a hightop table, gathering in a fair number of friendly winks along the way. Farah was blushing so deeply that he leaned in to check on her. “Doing okay?”

“This. Is. _Amazing_.” She adjusted her spear to sit in the crook of her elbow so that she could place both hands atop the table to ground herself.

“It is, isn’t it?” Todd grinned as a half-naked stranger patted him on the shoulder in passing. “Everyone certainly is, uh.”

“Flirty? Gorgeous?” Her fingers were tapping quickly, nearly as fast as her eyes were bouncing around the center of the room.

Todd chuckled. “You look like you need to dance,” he said. “Why not go give it a whirl? I’m gonna people watch for a while.”

Farah kissed him on the cheek, told him to be careful (whatever that meant), and disappeared into the crowd of twirling costumes, spear held high over her head.

Todd took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He scanned the room, drinking in the flash and color of it all. Groups of twos and threes stood around the tables nearby, all talking in boisterous, bubbly voices. He occasionally caught sight of Farah, who seemed to be having a grand time. She was using the spear to maintain personal space by occasionally swinging it a little as she danced. It looked merely careless, if you didn’t know her.

No sign of Dirk or Michael, though.

The third time his gaze returned to a wide set of pearl-white wings he admitted to himself that he was checking out the person wearing them. The winged man was wearing a knee-length white linen skirt and sandals with straps laced halfway up his calves. The wings were spread high above his head, as if about to beat a downstroke and lift him into the air. They were ingenious, Todd mused, held in place with black leather straps that wound across the man’s naked back and chest in a way that accentuated powerful shoulders and an elegant, lithe figure. His full-face porcelain mask was ringed with the same pure white feathers as his wings. His skin gleamed as though he'd been sweating. He appeared deep in conversation with a broad, red-bearded man in leather and fur. They leaned in close to talk, like old friends. It made Todd’s chest ache, for some reason.

Not wanting to be a creep, he scooted around the table so that he was faced in the opposite direction so that he’d be unable to watch the angel and the mountain man without craning around like an idiot. _There_ , he thought, _problem solved._ His eyes drifted around the half of the room now visible to him.

At the next table, the two jesters he’d spotted on the way in were setting down their drinks. Comedy and Tragedy, Todd named them, going by the masks that went with matching blue and silver motley.

“Where is Glorious Leader anyway? Isn’t he out of the VIP room yet?”

Todd pretended to fix his bow so he could eavesdrop. He started to wish he’d gone with the lyre instead. More strings would give him more to do without seeming too obvious.

“You know him, he’ll be there half the night. Last I saw he’d scooped up a bunch of folks to flirt with.”

 _A bunch?_ Todd thought. But _what about –_

“Have you seen the new guy? Poor little lamb. He’s stuck out here with us plebs.”

“I kinda wanna warn him, y’know?”

“Ugh, I know. Did you hear about Maurice? Took him ages to recover. Yvette was saying he really did a number on him. Maybe he’ll never be the same. He’s still weird about food.”

“I heard, yeah. Such a bastard. Belinda won’t call what he did to _her_ date rape, but....”

“ _Jesus._ Why doesn’t anyone report him?”

Todd’s ears burned as if they’d caught fire. It couldn’t be _Michael_ , could it? Maybe the guy was a little odd, but he didn’t seem so bad as all that. He was kind, from what Todd had seen, and generous.

“I dunno, it’s probably a lot of things. He’s got connections, I guess, so stuff gets swept under the rug. He used to be in black ops or something.”

“Christ." There was a pause as both took a long drink. "Guy does throw a hell of a party, though.”

The jesters fell silent. Or perhaps Todd simply couldn’t hear them any more. His heartbeat was so loud in his ears he thought he might pass out from it. Sounds turned tinny and unreal. The floor felt too far away. He tried to slow his shallow breathing. His sight _actually_ turned red – something he’d always assumed was only a turn of phrase.

Wait, no.

No, it was an enormous red beard. Todd blinked hard as he swam toward clarity. Yes, now that he looked properly it was a person who took up nearly his entire field of vision.

Redbeard had looked large from the opposite side of the room. Up close he was gargantuan. Each arm was almost wider than Todd’s entire torso. He had to clear six feet in height by at least two handspans. Todd had to take a half-step back just to see his face. As he did, a hand landed on the small of his back, hot against the patch of bare skin left exposed by the chiton Mona had designed for him. Someone half-whispered just behind his ear.

“Eros, I presume?” Warm breath caressed his neck like a kiss.

Todd jumped, body taut and electric. “Uh, no, um,” he stammered, turning around. “Apollo. It’s –“

It was the angel. His skin was covered in a fine sheen of pearl dust that turned his beauty ethereal. Todd couldn’t figure out where to look – the glorious white wings, the tempting bare chest, or the wide, fond eyes that shone from beneath a serene porcelain mask.

“Uh,” was all he managed.

“ _Todd?_ ”

* * *

> _...was friend the word? He seemed more like a succession of extraordinary events than a person._
> 
> **Douglas Adams, Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency**


	3. Extraordinary Genius and Naive Incompetence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very serious CW/TW warnings here for detailed descriptions of an abusive relationship, including emotional/sexual/physical/verbal abuse, gaslighting, maladaptive drinking, and potentially eating disorder-triggering dialog. I promise things will turn out okay in the end. Not to spoil the plot, but simply because if anyone’s anxiety is like mine it sometimes helps to know all will be well when it’s over. (And PLEASE lmk if I should add more tags & warnings. If you’re at all vulnerable, please proceed with caution.)

> _“It is not that we are hidden. We are here. We move among you. My people. Your gods. You gave birth to us. You made us what you would not dare to be yourselves. Yet you will not acknowledge us. If I walk along one of your streets in this... world you have made for yourselves without us, then barely an eye will once flicker in my direction."_
> 
> _"Is this when you're wearing the helmet?"_
> 
> _"Especially when I'm wearing the helmet!"_
> 
> **Douglas Adams , The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul **

* * *

_It couldn’t be._

It had to be.

“ _Todd?_ ”

No one could look thunderstruck the way Todd could. The voice, the flustered stammering, the clenched jawline – it _had_ to be him.

“ _Dirk??_ ”

“I didn’t realize you were –“

“I’m so sorry, I thought that you were – “

They both laughed, stepping back to take a long look at one another. Dirk, as usual, started speaking first.

“I hope you’ll forgive me startling you. Michael told me I’d know him by his costume, so naturally when I saw a Greek god.... I felt _sure_ I’d gotten it right.”

“Why would he be Greek?”

Dirk’s head tilted to the side, eyes arching upward. “Surely you can guess.”

He could see the gears grinding in Todd’s head, all but heard an audible _ping!_ when he got it. Unbelievably, his mouth hung a little further open.

“You’re _kidding_ ,” he said. “You didn’t. Why would you – ”

“Had a feeling,” Dirk said, shrugging. “I’m claiming it. Taking the power out of it by retaking it as my own, as it were. But look at _you_. Look at your _hair!_ You’ve gone blond.”

“Heh, yeah, Farah was doing a mythology thing so I figured I would, too, y’know? Wait, why did you think I was... who did you say?”

“Eros. Same as Cupid. Without the Renaissance nappies, that is. I spotted the bow and the wax job, and took a guess.” Dirk blushed, wondering what he’d let on by admitting he’d noticed how _smooth_ Todd was.

“I should’ve gone with the lyre instead. Music, and all that....” Todd’s eyes finally wandered a bit. “Sorry, your friend – I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” He held out a hand.

“You can see me?” Redbeard thundered. His resonant voice always gave Dirk the shivers.

“Yeah? Not to be rude, but you, uh. You’re hard to miss.”

“Todd, this is Thor. We met on a case once. He _loves_ fancy dress parties. Thor, Todd is my best friend.”

Todd laughed. “Nice one. Great costume choice.”

Dirk and Thor stared.

“Um,” said Todd.

“ _Heyyyyy Dirk!_ ” Farah crooned. She came up behind him, rested her cool cheek against his arm. “Oh, hey Todd. Whew, I need a break. It’s so much _fun_ out there!”

Dirk put an arm around her, hugging her close for a moment before letting her go. She stretched to release some of her leftover energy.

“You knew it was Dirk?” Todd asked.

“Yeah,” Farah said. She grinned up at him. “You’re an angel, right?”

* * *

Todd had insisted they get some fresh air, even though neither of them were dressed for an October evening outdoors. He seemed in a hurry about it, too, as if the fresh air were going to go somewhere. Luckily the two glasses of champagne Dirk had enjoyed in the last hour made him less aware of being chilly.

Once outside, Todd had shooed Dirk around a corner. Was the air better here? Dirk sniffed. No. No, this alleyway had more _eau de detritus_ about it.

“Are you feeling alright, Todd?” He could see Todd’s skin try to make hairs that weren’t there stand on end. He fought an urge to hug him close and warm him up.

“Dirk, listen to me. I know I don’t get hunches or feelings or whatever the way you do, but you have to believe that what I’m about to say is true even though I can’t say why I know it.”

“Have you had a vision?” By force of habit, Dirk listened nervously for the van. “Are the Rowdies here?”

“Nothing like that. I’d tell you if they were. Please, this is extremely important. It might be the most important thing I ever say to you, okay? You _need_ to take me seriously on this.”

Dirk tried to look less amused. Lovely Todd, always being melodramatic. He was never so beautiful as when he was animated about something.

“I’m listening. You have my rapt attention. Fire away.” He playfully chucked Todd on the shoulder. “I’m all yours.”

“You can’t date Michael.”

“ _Oh can’t I_?”

Something – some tiny valve somewhere that normally held up under huge amounts of pressure – blew open just a little, letting boiling steam into Dirk’s veins. Maybe it was the exasperation of waiting more than a year for Todd to show any interest at all. Maybe it was the surreal quality of the party, or the drinks, or the cold, or a sliver of recognition paired with sheer pigheadedness. Fury built in Dirk that no amount of common sense could tamp down. Words poured out of him at a hiss, fueled by a rash desire to hurt Todd as much as he himself was hurting.

“Then tell me why _you’re_ the expert on dating men. And while you’re at it explain why you’re here at all if you hate my happiness so much. What, _exactly_ , is so terrible about someone who gives me compliments and gifts – someone who wants to be with me? _Why can’t I date, Todd?_ What’s it to _you_ anyway?”

Dirk knew, three words in, that it was all going horribly sideways. He shouldn’t be mad, or at least shouldn’t be taking it out on Todd so harshly. He wasn’t usually an angry person because once started he didn’t know how to stop. His mouth had barreled on with no regard for consequences.

Todd’s shocked silence added to the unstoppable fireball of resentment.

“I didn’t have to break into _his_ apartment to convince him of my merits,” Dirk added. “Which is far more than I could say of anyone else.”

“Please, Dirk. I’m not trying to order you around, I promise. I _do_ want to see you happy. I think Michael might be dangerous. Just – just be careful, okay?”

Dirk could barely hear over all the screaming inside his skull, retorts and recriminations and heartache that all clamored for their turn. They drowned out the whisper saying that Todd might be right, that perhaps he was trying to be a good friend. Dirk wanted to do what _he_ wanted for once, not what the Universe, or a client, or a government operative wanted him to do. Hadn’t he earned the right to be selfish about something? To seek out a little taste of a normal life? If Todd didn’t want him, he certainly had no right to deny him anyone else on top of it.

“ _He’s_ not an asshole or a liar, Todd.”

Oh god. _Oh god_ he’d said it. Dirk thought he might sob in rage or in shame. So instead he scowled and stalked off, leaving a stunned Todd standing alone on the sidewalk.

* * *

If there was anything Dirk Gently had learned to do since becoming, well, _Dirk Gently_ , it was redirecting the urge to weep into movement. He cleaned his face with cold water in the bathroom and put his mask back on. He filled his lungs with as much air as they would hold, bolstering himself to reenter the ballroom.

Dirk’s breath got stuck the second he stepped into the room. Michael was instantly recognizable. Surrounded by several hangers-on, he had let his dark hair fall into soft curls. He wore shining golden armor was topped by a blood red cape and a mask that looked like waves of living flame, spikes of sunlight radiating outward in a halo. _Helios_ , Dirk thought. _The Colossus of Rhodes_. Though with a touch more clothing, for better or worse.

Thor, an actual colossus, waved to acknowledge Dirk, then went back to drinking. He didn’t seem to be making much of an impression on anyone around him. That much was certainly for the better. He could be cranky with mortals at times.

Dirk’s feet carried him across the room. He stopped shy of the edge of the group, pausing for a moment to listen before saying hello. Michael was talking.

“Look at your abs, you must put in so much work,” he was saying, hand stretched out to touch a woman who was dressed as a djinn. His fingers brushed over a tattoo on her ribs that Dirk couldn’t make out from where he was standing. “This is appealing. Does it have any special meaning?”

“It means I was nineteen and foolish once,” she retorted, smiling. “But no, nothing special. I like it for the artwork.”

“Me too.”

Dirk’s face flushed under the mask. “What’s it of?” he asked, craning around to see. It was only after the fact he realized that his accent would give him away immediately.

Michael’s eyes flicked to him, then away. “Some flowers,” he answered. If he recognized Dirk’s voice, he wasn’t letting on. He went back to chatting with the girl, leaving Dirk confused.

“Love your wings,” said a Wonderland Alice at his elbow. “They’re so charming! Did you design them yourself?”

“I had a bit of help,” Dirk said. “Actually, it’s a funny story!”

He began to ramble, one ear on how much attention Michael was giving to everyone but him.

* * *

It’d gone half eleven when the crowd started to thin. Dirk, having run out of cheerful stories to tell captive audiences, leaned most of his weight on his elbow at the bar. The staff were cleaning up, taking last orders, packing away the extras, and probably other things that Dirk was too tired, sad, and drunk to notice. He’d spotted Todd talking to Thor at one point while Farah muttered to herself, blindly scanning over a spot a few inches to the left of where Thor was standing. It was hard to care anymore. Dirk’s heart had done one too many emotions for a single evening, leaving him with little aside from a numb desire to drink as much as they’d allow within his reach. His mouth was dry. His pulse throbbed behind his eyes in time to the music, heralding a mighty hangover tomorrow. He ought to switch to water, he knew, so he ordered a vodka soda. He laughed to himself without enthusiasm.

“What’s so funny?”

Dirk would’ve spun had he been able. The end product, taking wings into account, was more of a sluggish, feathery swivel that almost knocked over three people.

“Vodka,” he said, wishing he were surprised to see Michael standing there alone. “’ _Little water._ ’ M’fortifying ‘gainst tomorrow’s handover. ...handover. ...hand.... ...headache.”

Michael laughed. It set Dirk alight. His limbs filled with sunshine.

“Aren’t you clever?” Michael put an arm around Dirk’s bare shoulders. The cold, metallic armor made him shiver a little. It hardly mattered. He was so happy that he felt he was floating. The recriminations he’d been rehearsing all evening evaporated. Things were alright after all. Michael thought he was _clever_.

“Saved the best for last?” Dirk asked. That sounded like something a flirty person might say, surely.

Michael stepped back to brazenly evaluate Dirk. He wished he’d kept his mask on to better hide the heat that was taking over his face and neck.

“Not the best,” Michael said at last. “Handsome-ish, maybe, but not gorgeous. You eat too much junk and it shows.”

Dirk felt less certain that this was how flirting was supposed to go.

“You know,” Michael added, “if you’d work out more you’d be supermodel hot. I actually know a great trainer who’s got a studio a few blocks from your office. I’ll set you up an appointment. She’ll whip you into a shape I can be proud of.”

Just like that, the situation had slipped away from Dirk’s limited ability to comprehend it. He nodded, at a loss for anything else to do.

“C’mon,” Michael said, “come back to the VIP room with me. I’ve got water and aspirin. Everybody’s leaving so we’ll have it to ourselves.”

Farah drifted into view a few dozen meters away, looking anxious.

“Got to do one thing first," Dirk said. "Meet you there?”

Michael winked at Farah as he walked toward the back room.

* * *

“How are you doing?” Farah asked. “You look _ill_.”

“Never better,” Dirk lied.

“What’s _his_ costume?” She gestured with her chin.

“Hm? Oh, erm, sun god.”

“How very Louis XIV of him.”

Dirk snorted louder than he intended to.

“Hey, so Todd said you had a fight.”

“Oh.” Dirk shuffled a bit. “Right.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Are you headed out, then?” he tried.

“He’s going to be impossible if you don’t say goodnight to him.“

Dirk sighed. Farah was already leading him toward the door without bothering to glance back. He hated being a grownup.

Todd stood in the atrium with his hands in his pockets, faced toward the street as he watched people leave. Dirk saw him fishing around for something.

“What have I got in my pocket?” he murmured to himself.

“Well there’s a riddle if I’ve ever heard one, Todd.” It slipped out before Dirk remembered that Todd ought to hate him right now.

“Huh?” Todd turned to face them, pulling out a matchbook. “I didn’t even know I had pockets in this thing.” He squinted at it. “Do cab companies usually give out matchbooks?”

“Who uses matches anymore?” Farah asked.

Todd’s thoughts were clearly far away for a few moments. When he snapped back to the present, he looked so small and timid that Dirk wanted to wrap him in a protective embrace, even though he was probably the thing Todd most needed protected from at the moment.

“Uh, so, Farah said we should try to make up so we don’t go to bed mad.” He didn’t _look_ mad. Hurt and skittish, however, was worse.

“Is that right?” Dirk asked, giving Farah his best evil eye.

She folded her arms over her chest and stared at him levelly. _Fair point_ , Dirk thought.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you. I was being unfair.” It didn’t begin to encompass how he felt, but he didn't have the capacity for a nuanced apology at the moment.

Todd pressed the matchbook into Dirk’s hand. “Take this. I think you’re supposed to have it. Be smart, okay? We’ll sort out the rest later.”

“Where will I put it? _I_ haven’t got pockets.”

Farah rolled her eyes. “Tuck it in the elastic band of your drawers.”

“I haven’t got any pants on.”

“You’re not wearing _underwear?_ ” Todd practically shouted. His voice cracked in an odd way.

“I was trying to be accurate,” Dirk said haughtily. “Besides, the fabric hasn’t been invented yet that’s up to the job, I’m afraid.”

* * *

Matchbook tucked securely under the shin straps of his sandals with the help of something Farah had called “body tape,” Dirk let himself into the repurposed conference room. It was grey and nondescript, with several long tables covered in an assortment of cosmetic glitter, costume jetsam, and half-filled cups. The music had been shut off for the night, meaning the only sound in the room was the hum of fluorescent lighting overhead. He felt jittery. Featureless, artificially-lit rooms still turned his stomach.

“Welcome, Icarus,” Michael joked. He poured out a large glass of water from a pitcher and handed it to Dirk along with some pills, a warm smile, and a wink. “Here, beautiful, get a jump on heading off that hangover and then we’ll get those wings off you. You must be exhausted. Are they heavy?”

Dirk threw back the pills and nearly half the glass, hoping it would settle his nerves a little.

“Not especially, no. That’s the wonder of feathers. And the frame’s aluminium. Though it _is_ starting to itch.” He pawed at a slim silver buckle that had been covering his shoulder scars. Between unfocused eyes and clumsy fingers he wasn’t getting far, so he played up his uselessness to cover how vulnerable he felt to be trapped in a windowless room. Misdirecting to a fake weakness was one of his most well-worn talents.

Michael patiently bade Dirk to sit in a chair so that he could help undo the black leather straps. Dirk sighed when they were off at last. The relief of having the pressure off his neck and back was divine.

“Did you have a nice time tonight? Get to see your friends?” Michael sat atop one of the conference tables. His eyes were bright, feet swinging a little as he spoke. “I thought I spotted Farah at one point.”

“I did,” Dirk replied. He was unsure how to proceed. He hated to sound needy. “Didn’t you notice _me_ at all?”

“Sure. You were there all night, weren’t you?”

Dirk tried – really tried – not to sound petulant. He leaned against the edge of a table to put himself on slightly higher ground than he’d been in the chair. “Then why didn’t you spend any time with me?”

Michael shrugged. “There were more interesting people to talk to. I throw these things to see gorgeous, talented people, and to have them see me. I can see _you_ any time.”

“You –“ Dirk stammered.

“I got you a present, you know. When you calm down I’ll show it to you.”

“When I _calm down_?”

“Yes.” He began to rifle through a gift bag a few feet further down the table. His tone was even, bordering on disinterested. “If you’re going to be hysterical you can leave.”

Dirk felt his throat tighten around a hard, hot pearl of emotional exhaustion that wanted both to burst from his body and sink tentacles into his psyche. His lungs screamed for oxygen even as his diaphragm tried to push all the air out of him. On instinct he covered his face with both hands, as through he could block the tears with the tips of his fingers or mute the sobs with his palms. He couldn’t stop his head from shaking side to side. 

He’d been so turned in on himself that he didn’t hear Michael approach. Gentle fingers on his temples held his head steady. Michael rubbed his thumbs soothingly along Dirk’s cheeks for a few strokes, then placed both hands under Dirk’s chin, lifting it away from his chest.

“Let me see you,” he said.

Dirk released his hands from his face. He fought back a sniffle by biting his lower lip.

“Sweet, sweet Dirk. You’re being so silly.”

Michael pressed a kiss on Dirk’s trembling mouth.

Dirk couldn’t get a handle on anything. He’d never been whipped back and forth between feelings like this before. Confusion struck him senseless. He froze. _What was happening?_

He recoiled when Michael pushed his tongue into his mouth. “No, I – no.” He pushed him back with both hands. “I’m sorry,” he said, eyes on the floor. “This isn’t the right moment.”

Although Dirk had never thought of himself as particularly strong, he was stronger than his slender frame suggested. He knew he could beat Todd – though not Farah or Tina – at arm-wrestling. Knew he could lift himself out of a hole so long as he could reach the ledge, or dig a few dozen holes without tiring. So when Michael broke back into his personal space and shoved him roughly against the table, it caught him so off balance that he yelped.

“You’re pretty like that,” Michael said, “all pouty and blushing.” He slid a hand up Dirk’s leg, reaching under the skirt.

Dirk slapped him.

He felt horrified by the cliché of it. He’d punched a few people in self-defense before. Shot people. Thrown a deadly kittenshark at a man. But _slapping?_ His mind clenched around that repulsion because it was cleaner, easier to process. _Self-loathing_ was something he could handle.

That’s all the further he got in his thinking before Michael had him by the throat.

“ _Don’t you ever do that_ , you hear me? _I_ am the one in charge. _I_ invited you here. I invited your friends. I didn’t have to do any of that. And you slap me for stealing a kiss? Christ, don’t be such a bitch.” His eyes glittered. Right up until Dirk kicked him in the shin.

Dirk placed a hand over his throat. He backed away, out of reach. “You’re monstrous,” he croaked.

 _Michael_ crying was not something Dirk was prepared for, inasmuch as he was prepared for anything that had happened thus far. And yet there he was, eyes full of tears, holding his shin. For the tiniest of moments Dirk pictured him as a footballer, melodramatically faking a leg injury.

It was much too much. A little voice – the same tiny one that had whispered that maybe he shouldn’t be yelling at Todd in an alleyway – told him it was time to go. This time he listened.

“I’m leaving, ” Dirk said. With a shaking hand he brushed his hair, slightly damp from sweating – away from his face. “You’ll have to find someone more interesting to take home.”

* * *

Dirk was two blocks away before he stopped to think. It was the middle of the night. He was in fancy dress in downtown Seattle – half naked if you got right down to it – and his feet hurt too badly to make the walk back to the Ridgley. He scratched absently under the sandal straps that were cutting into his skin as he considered his options, causing Todd’s matchbook to fall out. He scooped it up, brushed off the dirt, and read the advertisement on the cover.

**_Phaeton Taxicab_**

_Airport service and midnight rescues a specialty._

That settled it, then. He ducked into an all-night convenience store to borrow their phone.

* * *

**I *am* a monster.**

Dirk’s phone buzzed as he finished cleaning his teeth. He knew he shouldn’t take the bait. Not that knowing it did him any good.

**I beg your pardon?**

**You were right.**

**I’m awful.**

**I’m not trying to be.**

**People make me lose my temper sometimes.**

Dirk pressed his lips together. What did one say to that? It seemed he was getting more and more acquainted with being at a loss for words.

**Or I get so attracted to someone that I** **forget they might not want to be** **complimented in that way.**

Being groped without warning hadn’t _felt_ complimentary. Was he being unfairly harsh, though? Dirk felt too wrung out to get a firm grip on his memory of what had happened. Maybe he’d misread the situation. And then he'd kicked Michael so hard he cried. 

**You’re not the first person I’ve hurt.**

**Maurice, Belinda, Kevin, Jade etc**

**They’ll all tell you I act before thinking sometimes.**

**I'm really fucked up.**

**I started seeing a therapist recently.**

**She told me I need to work on my patience.**

**Give me another chance?**

Of course Michael was flawed. Wasn’t everyone? And he was taking steps to improve. Many people never got that far. He himself had been horrible to Todd just a few hours before. 

_What if Todd never accepted_ his _apology?_

**Yes, I forgive you.**

**I knew you’d understand.**

**Let me make** **it up to you.**

 **I was planning to ask you to** **come up to Victoria with me next weekend.**

**I know a place that does great afternoon tea.**

**You’ll love it. They have purple gin.**

* * *

> _The theology of this seemed a little confused, reflected Dirk, but what was one tiny extra droplet of misinformation in such a raging torrent?_
> 
> **Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few quick notes on the mythology, if anyone likes trivia:
> 
>  **Helios** was the charioteer of the sun. Despite being The Sun, he was a titan rather than a god, and was not worshiped much outside of a few places, such as Rhodes. You could even say he wasn’t even the sun, exactly, that he merely drove the sun chariot and controlled the horses, which were named Eous (The Sky Turner), Aethops (Parching), Bronte (Thunder), and Sterope (Lightning). So, arguably, he did little aside from hold the reins. At night he rode back to his home in the east in a teacup (or a bowl, depending on what translation you’re reading), which I’ve always found hilarious.
> 
>  **Apollo** , on the other hand, was associated with the sun but he represented things like golden light, music, logic, order, beauty, truth, prophesy, poetry, and healing. In other words, while Helios was mostly only known for his role in the burning deaths of Phaeton and Icarus, Phoebus (Shining) Apollo was an Olympian god that stood for goodness and light. Apollo was also known to have male lovers, unlike Helios.
> 
>  **Atalanta** was a hero known for being an unbeatable badass. Read up on her stories, you won’t regret it. I can easily picture her and Farah getting along well.
> 
>  **Eros** , much like Apollo, appeared as a beautifully radiant, golden youth who carried a bow and represented physical – specifically including gay – love. While Cupid was the Roman version, neither Eros nor Cupid were cherubs. That image came millennia later. Imagine how different Valentine's would be if we celebrated with an accurate depiction of Eros instead. (Come to think of it, maybe that's exactly what we need.)
> 
>  **Thor** , as I'm sure you know, is a sky god as well. _His_ chariot was pulled by goats named Tanngrisnir (Teethbarer) and Tanngnjóstr (Teethgrinder). In the myths he's got red hair, a long beard, and a fur cloak. More like a Norseman and less like a Australian, in other words. 
> 
> In addition to being a mythological figure, **Phaeton** was the name of a type of horse-drawn carriage that was considered very fast and showy in its day.
> 
> (Yes, I like mythology a LOT, lol. If you also like mythology, let me recommend Stephen Fry's Mythos series and Neil Gaiman's Norse Mythology. Both are excellent and the audiobooks -- if that's your thing -- are narrated by the authors. FWIW, Stephen Fry was Douglas Adams' best friend, so it feels fitting to weave some mythological figures into an Adamsesque universe. And if you ever need to cry your heart out, read Fry's introduction to The Salmon of Doubt. In fact, just read The Salmon of Doubt.)


	4. Fight, Flight, Freeze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW/TWs for this chapter relate to possible eating disorder triggers and descriptions of an abusive partner, viz. emotional abuse/manipulation, sexual abuse/assault, verbal abuse, physical assault, narcissistic abuse of power, and so on.

> _The explosion was now officially designated an "Act of God."  
>  But, thought Dirk, what god? And why?  
> What god would be hanging around Terminal Two of Heathrow Airport trying to catch the 15:37 flight to Oslo?_
> 
> **Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul**

* * *

The week after they’d lost Dirk to Black Wing was the longest of Todd’s life. They’d had no leads, no direction, and very little hope. He’d been swept up so fast into the giddy whirlwind of Dirk Gently that losing him was like itching for a fix of something that had briefly made the world bearable. If Farah hadn’t packed his stupid ass into a car and hit the road, he probably would’ve lain on the floor of his wrecked apartment at the Ridgely, waiting for Friedkin’s team to find him.

This week hadn’t been nearly so bad, though it shared a lot of the same features. Todd missed Dirk. He was worried about him. He had to believe he’d see him again, but he didn’t know when. He kept checking the trunk of Farah's car for him.

Dirk had texted Farah a few times to assure her he was on the lookout for a case. Still, he hadn’t checked in with Todd and hadn’t come to the office all week.

By Friday Farah was ready to throttle Todd, so instead she took the afternoon off to run errands.

“Lock up when you leave. Stay the whole day. _No moping_ ,” she’d warned him.

He intended to lock up, anyhow. Best one out of three, right?

It was nearing dusk when Dirk poked his head around the corner of the agency’s open door. Todd, mistaken about seeing Dirk out of the corner of his eye a hundred times already that week, blinked for several long seconds as he worked on getting his brain to accept the input as real this time.

Dirk’s face, normally so mobile and expressive, was slack and haggard. His eyes were sunken, with none of their usual spark, as if all of his vitality had been drained away. Even his clothing was colorless – black trousers, grey dress shirt, the black jacket Asisstent had gifted him the day of their first date. Todd tried not to frown too deeply.

“Hey Dirk,” he said, “find any good leads this week?” He suspected he’d gotten good at – or a least comfortable with – lying, so he tried his best to sound like he wasn’t desperate for an explanation.

“Any what? Oh, erm, no.” Dirk slumped onto the office sofa, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. “No, I just thought I’d pop in, maybe rest for a second.”

Todd joined him. He longed to place a comforting hand on Dirk’s arm or thigh to forge a physical connection. He couldn’t be sure if it was meant to soothe Dirk or himself, though, so he picked at his nails instead. He watched Dirk breathe for a few moments.

“You want me to put the kettle on?” was the best he could come up with.

Dirk opened one eye. “Would you? I’d like nothing better.”

* * *

When Todd returned to the sofa with the tea, Dirk was sound asleep. He placed the mug on a coaster – Farah’s rule – and slid it to within arm’s reach. Dirk liked his tea as close to scalding as possible, so Todd woke him despite how much he’d rather let the man rest.

“Four sugars and milk, right? That’s how you take it?”

He thought maybe he saw Dirk cringe a little.

“Thanks, Todd. Excellent assisting.” He took a small sip that looked like bliss itself. “Though I was thinking I might go off sugar for a while.”

“ _You?_ Why would you do that?”

Dirk shifted and avoided eye contact by concentrating on the mug. “Just a thought. I’ve started at a new gym.”

Todd scowled. “Why? What was wrong with your old one?” He leaned in closer despite himself. “Is that creep bothering you again?”

“No, nothing like that. Pretty sure Farah put the fear into that one. It was Michael’s idea, actually. He’s found me a personal trainer to help work on my problem areas.”

“Your _‘problem areas’?_ What the hell does that mean? Dirk – you’re already fit. You look _great_. What’s this asshole been telling you?” It slipped out before Todd was even aware he’d been thinking it. He’d promised Farah he wouldn’t bring up Assistent and that he would “play nice” (her words) if he did come up. Up to that moment he’d even planned to honor the promise.

Dirk looked _exhuasted_. “Todd, I appreciate the sentiment up to a point. But you’re being unfair, don’t you think?”

“No! I _don’t_ fucking think. This guy.... Dirk, he’s no good.”

“He cares about my health. That’s not a bad thing, you know.”

“I’ve heard awful things about him,” Todd said, getting up to pace. “Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think.”

“Since when are you such a gossip?” Dirk held the mug close against his chest, as though using it for a tiny shield for his heart. “It’s unbecoming of you.”

Todd paused several seconds, letting the truth of it sink in a little. He _was_ being selfish. Nobody was ever going to love Dirk the way he did. That didn't mean he should be acting petulant about it. Christ, was he so transparent as that? He took a deep breath, sighed it out slowly, and tried a different tack.

“Has he lost his patience with you yet?”

Dirk slammed the mug down next to the coaster, causing some of the tea to slosh onto the table. Todd wanted to scramble to put it right, but Dirk looked so annoyed that he didn’t dare.

“Look, sometimes people lose their tempers. It happens to _everyone_. It’s only kind to forgive them when they do. It’s what a good friend does.” His voice was tight. He stood, taking a few steps toward Todd before stopping. “ _Everyone_ makes mistakes.” He turned his head away, suddenly eager to inspect the top of one of the desks.

“I _know_ that. But there’s a limit, you know? I overheard some guys at the party, and what they were saying... I’m pretty sure they were talking about Michael. I’m concerned about how he might be treating people.”

Dirk’s tone went flat. “So you’re more interested in what strangers have to say about some mystery person than what I have to say about my boyfriend. That’s class. _What_ is your problem, Todd? You’re acting like the new baby came along and now you’re not the center of attention any more.”

Todd stared. It was so close to the truth that he struggled to come up with a reply that wouldn’t give his feelings away. He pressed his lips together instead.

“We’re going to Victoria this weekend,” Dirk said, “Michael and I. _Don’t_ call me.” His eyes narrowed. He held Todd’s gaze for several seconds, then turned for the door. “I’d like to have a nice time without anyone trying to talk me out of it.” He tossed his phone into a mail basket on his way out.

Todd’s stomach flip-flopped. Having Dirk mad at him was wrecking his digestion.

* * *

**Hey A, I need to vent**

**Got a sec?**

**Yeah dude**

**Shoot**

**I keep making Dirk mad because I think his** **new boyfriend is a jerk**

 **and it always** **comes out stupid when I try to warn him**

**You’re surprised by that?**

**No**

**So what then?**

**Maybe I’m wrong but this guy seems dangerous**

**like a rapist or abuser or something**

**I’m worried Dirk’s going to end up getting hurt**

**so I keep starting fights about it when I don’t mean to**

**and I don’t know how to fix it because I feel like an ass**

**Ah, complete overreaction, anxiety, and** **embarrassment – the sweet spot**

**I’m serious**

**Does he know WHY you’re all twisted about it?**

**my my look at the time**

**gtg bai**

**Dipshit**

**TELL HIM**

* * *

Farah rested her chin on the white plastic lid of her extra large coffee cup. She regarded Todd levelly, like one might inspect a glitchy computer that’s always on the fritz.

“So he stormed out.”

“Yeah.”

“Even though I told you not to rile him up.”

“Yeah.”

“And now he’s left the country for the weekend. Without his phone.”

“I already feel terrible about it, you know.”

Farah sighed and slumped back against the red vinyl seat. She looked out the cafe’s window toward the rainy street where hipsters and commuters were rushing by on their way to Better Places to Be. Then she sat forward, leaning over the table, and tapped her index finger on the formica tabletop in the universal “now you listen here” gesture.

“We need to fix this.”

“I know.”

“What you _don’t_ know is that I wasn’t dancing the entire time at the masquerade.”

“Do I wanna ask?”

“Yes. You do. Don’t be crude.”

“Sorry. Go on.” Todd gnawed absently on the paper rim of his cup for lack of better ways to fidget.

“ _As I was saying_ , I went looking for some of the people we met that night at the barcade. I found a bunch of them smoking outside. Turns out, what you overheard wasn’t even the beginning. This guy? He’s unbelievable. I never trusted him, but I had no idea the kind of megalomaniacal shit he pulls.”

“What do you mean?” Todd took Mona – currently a pair of red mittens – out of his denim jacket pocket and laid them on the seat. He was afraid he’d start picking at the yarn when he ran out of cup to chew.

“Assistent is a nightmare. It sounds like he came here right after Francis got busted out of Black Wing. Like, _days_ after. All of a sudden he’s got this huge group of friends and pays for these super lavish parties because he’s apparently got a ton of money. Way more than a vet or ex-fed should have. And the people he dates? He starts out really sweet, with tons of compliments and expensive gifts. Sound familiar? _Then_ he starts flirting with other people right in front of them. Smacks food out of their hands and tells them they’re fat, as if that mattered even if it were true. Insults them until they cry and then tries to make out with them. It’s like he gets off on hurting people.”

“ _Jesus._ ”

“It gets worse. He likes to take his dates out somewhere far in the countryside, or somewhere they can’t get away from. He’s done it a bunch of times. Gets them drunk or high and tries to have sex with them, no matter what the person wants.”

Todd felt sure he was going to throw up. His skin prickled like he was in an open field during a thunderstorm. It set his teeth on edge.

“Why does anyone stay with him? Or with their little group there, whatever they were calling it.”

“They like each other more than they like him. He likes to ‘collect’ successful and interesting people. But if one of them starts to speak out about him? They’re out. And then he starts gossiping about them to turn the group against them. Or he pretends to cry and says he can’t help it, but he’s in therapy trying to get better.” Farah returned to her slumped position. She scratched the back of her neck and stared at nothing. “I guess one of his exes tried to report him for beating her up, but then some – these are her words – ‘scary military guys in black SUVs with government plates’ showed up and threatened her.”

Farah’s lips kept moving _sotto voce_ while her eyebrows knit into a mighty furrow. She was lost in her own anxiety and was problem-solving in the muttery way she had.

Todd flipped through apps on his phone as fast as his fingers would go. “We’ve gotta get Dirk away from him. I don’t even care any more if he hates me for it.” He paused while he typed a few words. “Shit, Victoria’s an _island?_ ”

“Yeah?”

“So the only ways there from Seattle are ferry or plane.”

“How did you not know that?”

“Why would I? It’s in Canada.”

Farah shook her head with her eyes closed. “It’s a Saturday. We’re not going to be able to get tickets on short notice.”

The anxious electricity that was making Todd’s heart race and his stomach churn made it hard to concentrate. He fumbled as he typed, hands shaking. “You’re right,” he said at last. He threw his phone onto the table. “Everything’s booked all weekend. _Fuck!_ Christ, it’s going to take an act of god at this point to get up there in time.”

It was too late by the time Todd realized he was about to have an attack. He could see blue bolts of lightning gathering on his arms. As the thunderous roar of pain started to drown everything out, he thought he heard Mona talking to Farah.

“Does it matter _which_ god?”

* * *

> _The impossible did not bother him unduly. If it could not possibly be done, then obviously it had been done impossibly. The question was how?_
> 
> **Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, the next chapter's the last one and may also be the hardest for readers. I'm about to put Dirk through Some Shit. That said, there WILL be a happy ending. He'll be okay (in case that helps).


	5. Machinations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here goes. Please know that absobloodylutely everything that transpires between Assistent and Dirk from here on out is NOT okay in a relationship. (Nor is most of what came before.) Abundant CW/TWs in this chapter for attempted sexual assault, implied violence, suicidal ideation, abuse of pretty much every flavor, body shaming / eating disorder triggers, maladaptive drinking, gaslighting, and more that I’m probably not catching here. If you are in ANY way vulnerable, please proceed with caution. 
> 
> And if you ever ever ever need to talk to someone, please look me up here or on tumblr (same username). I’m here for you. Really. I care so damn much it’s gross.

> **_ABOYNE_ ** _(vb.) To beat an expert at a game of skill by playing so appallingly badly that none of his clever tactics or strategies are of any use to him._
> 
> **Douglas Adams & John Lloyd, The Meaning of Liff**

* * *

Dirk folded his jacket and placed it over an antique armchair by the window. From where he was standing he had a grand view of the harbor, seven floors below them and less than a kilometer away. They'd enjoyed a pleasant stroll from the harbor to the enormous hotel and a seamless check-in, though Canadian manners were jarring after so long in the States. Or not jarring enough, rather.

Now that they were settling into their suite, Dirk took the opportunity to space out and daydream. He’d been awake since before dawn, as only lunatics do. Then Michael had shown up with a thermos of builder’s brew and a packet of seasickness pills. So Dirk had kept complaints to a minimum. During the three-hour ferry ride they’d made light conversation punctuated by periods of comfortable silence and small, affectionate gestures. It lacked the frenetic, life-or-death excitement of a case with the agency, perhaps, but it was soothing in its banality. A regular couple on a regular weekend trip, just as he’d always craved.

He stretched luxuriantly, allowing the muscles in his back and shoulders to unknot from the tension of sitting so long. He rubbed his bad shoulder and wondered what his friends back home were doing. He stayed away from the guilty, Todd-shaped black hole in his thoughts by putting a great deal of energy into deciding whether Mona was more likely to be clothing or furniture at the moment. He thought perhaps she was being transport of some variety, though he couldn’t say why he felt that way. He’d only ever known her to be a vehicle the once.

Something foggy that reminded Dirk of a migraine aura had tugged at his temples all morning, leaving him drowsy and a little slow. Insubstantial shapes drifted across his distracted mind: waves, red mittens, thunderbolts, coffee. He yawned so widely that his jaw popped.

Michael’s voice brought him out of his sleepy reverie.

“Nice to see you stripping down at last.” Michael pointed with his chin at the jacket. One eyebrow was quirked up and there was a grin beginning to form at the corner of his mouth.

A nauseated lump formed in Dirk’s stomach. Perhaps this was what people talked about when they talked about butterflies? Nerves, then, that was all. He cleared his throat and concentrated on keeping a cool, neutral face and ignoring the comment with – he hoped – dignity.

“I made some reservations for us in an hour,” Michael said, crossing the room. “I thought we might get comfortable while we wait. Glad to see you’re on the same page.” He slid a hand up Dirk’s chest.

Dirk took half a step back to reclaim his personal space. He squeezed Michael’s hand softly as he did, hoping it eased the rejection a little. “I’m flattered, really I am. But, you see, I’m still not quite there yet.” He tried to take another step back and found his retreat blocked by the windowsill.

Michael grinned in full, showing his teeth. His eyes twinkled. “I’ll help you get there.” He reached for Dirk’s tie.

“Look,” Dirk tried, “I’d really rather not, if you don’t mind.”

Michael jerked hard on the tie, bringing Dirk’s face to within inches of his own. “I _do_ mind. This is what boyfriends _do_. You want to be a good boyfriend for me, don’t you?” He leaned flush against Dirk, holding him by the tie, with his other hand hooked underhand through Dirk’s belt. He pressed hot, wet kisses against Dirk’s throat. Anchored at neck and waist, with the windowsill digging into his back and an icicle of dread spearing his gut, Dirk stretched his neck to turn his head and lean away as best he could without resorting to shoving. Michael grunted against his skin, taking the stretch for an invitation to nip at Dirk’s jaw and earlobe.

A flood of conflicting emotions and thoughts left Dirk stunned for several seconds. The mental claxon that told him to escape from danger was going off alongside a tense heat that was wrapping itself low around his belly. His breathing was shallow. He wanted to be flattered. Wanted to know how extract himself gracefully. To scream and kick. To be back on the ferry, or to will time forward to whatever lie beyond this. But the sluggishness that had settled over him earlier in the day had slowed his reactions to a crawl.

It all snapped back into clarity when he realized that Michael was undoing his belt.

“Alright. Enough.” He dug his knuckles hard into Michael’s sternum – a trick Amanda had taught him – and pushed until he had enough room to slide away. He retreated several steps toward the door and tried to mentally brace as best he knew how.

Michael whirled on him, rubbing a palm over the area in the center of his chest that Dirk had knuckled. Amanda had shown Dirk, first hand, how badly that move hurt and how it was most people’s instinct to back away from it to protect themselves. He winced to remember the demonstration. _Such a resourceful girl. I really must get her a nice souvenir while I’m here_ , Dirk thought absently. _I wonder what she’d like best? Maybe some maple leaf stickers to put on her favorite vandalism bat?_

While his thoughts were elsewhere, Michael rushed at Dirk with clenched fists. He processed it only a fraction of a second before Michael pulled the punch, a hairsbreadth from his jaw, and only relaxed from the flinch when he realized Michael was laughing.

“Usually,” Michael said through a laugh, “my dates are too groggy from the motion sickness meds to put up much of a fight. Not you, though.”

 _Is that why my head feels so cottony?_ Dirk remained rooted to the spot, unsure of himself. The sudden jerk from near-violence to mirth had him rattled.

“Do you –“ Dirk tried to organize his jumbled, sticky mind. “D’you do this often, then? Bring people up here to drug and grope them?”

“You make it sound terrible. I don’t ‘drug’ anyone. I didn’t force the pills on you, did I? And if you’re more open to messing around when you’re not being so _uptight_ , then everybody wins.” Michael’s voice lowered. He eased toward Dirk, palms-up. “Have you ever seen how your hair glows in the sunlight? It’s breathtaking. Can I help it if I think you’re lovely, standing there in the window with the light at your back, looking the way you do?”

Dirk placed his hands in Michael’s outstretched ones, not wanting to leave him standing there with them held out. He furrowed his brows. “Is that why you think I need a personal trainer? Because I'm 'lovely?'”

Michael let go of Dirk’s hands. He paced at random while he talked. “You know I grew up in a good home, right?”

Dirk made a noncommittal noise that most definitely was not a grunt of jealousy.

“I grew up with the best of everything. Schooling, friends, opportunities. I am who I am because of discipline. Only lazy people are poor or fat, you know. _No one_ in my family or among my friends is fat. I want to save you from that kind of life, is all. Make sure you stay as gorgeous as you are now. You eat like a hog and it’s going to catch up with you. But _you_ make it sound like I’m a terrible person for looking after you.”

“It doesn’t _feel_ like looking after,” Dirk said. The words sounded petulant in his own ears.

“Well it is.” Michael picked up a pen from the hotel’s desk and fidgeted with it. “I’m not perfect either. I told you, I’m working on it with a therapist. I don’t want to be this way – pushy and what have you. But I don’t mean anything by it when I am.” He put the pen down and finally made eye contact. “Besides, you’re the one that shoved me. That fucking _hurt_.”

“I –“ Dirk stammered. “I _am_ sorry for that. I didn’t know what to do. You were – I, uh. I... felt trapped.”

“It was just kissing.” Michael shook his head and chewed his lip while he checked his watch. “Look, never mind that. Water under the bridge. Come downstairs with me, I have a surprise for you.”

* * *

The second level of the hotel was brightly lit and lavishly decorated. The whole building was grand, but the tearoom was living art. Warm light from crystal chandeliers lit crisply dressed waiters, who bustled between high-backed armchairs clustered around small tea tables. The rugs, the tablecloths, the china – all was done in tasteful jewel tones and cream lace that framed well-heeled patrons in tailored suits and pearls. In front of Dirk, on a four-tier tray, was a vast array of sandwiches, scones, pastries, and petit fours that their waiter had taken pains to explain to them piece-by-piece. Next to that was a porcelain teapot filled with tea selected from a menu of dozens of hand-curated blends. No PG Tips here, that was for sure. Michael had explained some of the history of the place while they waited for G&Ts to be brought along and added to the crowded, lush table.

“The hotel is named for Queen Victoria,” he said. “So they try for a very _colonial_ feel, if you will. Still, the tea is excellent. Try one of the sandwiches. I think you’ll like them.”

 _Like_ was altogether the wrong word. It was glorious. Dirk looked up at the ceiling and sighed through his nose, chewing beatifically.

Michael laughed, throaty and earnest in his appreciation of Dirk’s enjoyment. “I had a feeling.” He placed a light hand on Dirk’s knee. Not possessive, not lewd, but gentle and kindly. The Michael, in other words, that Dirk had first met. Not the monstrous caricature from upstairs. “You deserve this and so much more. I love making you happy. Seeing you smile is the best part of my day.”

Dirk concentrated on chewing slowly to avoid having to admit how pleased he was to hear someone actually wanted him around.

The waiter returned with a tray from which he produced a crystal glass, ice, _purple_ gin, and a bottle of tonic. Dirk gasped to see the gin change from deep indigo to a floral pink as the tonic and a slice of grapefruit were added to the glass.

“It reacts to the acidity of what you put in it,” Michael said. “Neat, no?”

“It’s delightful,” Dirk replied, wondering if he could fish out the grapefruit without seeming rude. As his eyes dashed around the table and then to other tables to check if anyone was looking, he heard a mad, unforgettable giggle that turned his world inside out.

“ _No_ ,” Dirk whispered. “ _Oh no._ ”

* * *

“Todd?” Mona’s voice, clear and sweet, came to him through the electric pain.

Muscles were jerking at random. The smell of burning flesh and ozone filled his nostrils. Bolts of blue lightning raced along his limbs. His diaphragm contracted, keeping him from taking in any air. His heart skittered. Mona’s calm, deliberate words cut through all of it.

“Todd? Can you pull Thor through? He’s a god of lightning. Remember Thor? I think you can use the lightning to bring him here. Try for me, okay? Pull him through to us. We need him to save Dirk.”

It was all the encouragement he needed to focus through the agony and _reach_.

* * *

Dirk slithered out of his chair and ducked under the table. “ _Get down!_ ” he hissed.

Michael regarded him with amusement.

Between shallow, panicked gasps Dirk flapped his hands at Michael and tugged on his sleeve. “ _Mister Priest!”_ He pointed toward where the unhinged giggle had come from. “He’s _here_!”

“Dirk, get up. I know he’s here.”

“You **_what?_** ” No, not possible. He’d misheard.

“Get back in your seat like a normal person and I’ll explain. You’re being an embarrassment down there like that. You had every chance to be on your knees earlier.”

Obediently, in a trance of befuddled shock and disgust, Dirk slid awkwardly back up into his chair. He kept his head low.

Michael took a deliberately long sip of his tea, holding Dirk’s gaze the entire time. When he’d put the cup down and resettled against the back of the chair, he spoke in an even, conversational way.

“I asked Mister Priest to come here as backup in case things didn’t go to plan.”

“...plan?” The fuzzy aura from before was back in force. Dirk squinted as if it would help him focus his mind as well as his eyes.

“Black Wing needs your abilities, Dirk. More than ever.”

“It’s not – “ _God, these words were so worn out by now._ “It doesn’t work that way.”

“Don’t bullshit me. I read your file. I know _exactly_ what you can and cannot do. And what you can do, you do best when you care about the people involved. You _connect_ with people. Why do you think Riggins went to so much trouble to raise you the way he did? He was never that fatherly with anyone else.”

“But you – didn’t you quit? Weren’t you, erm...?”

“’Just’ an assistant?”

“Well.”

“Dirk, a lieutenant outranks a corporal.”

Michael took another sip of his tea and helped himself to a finger sandwich while Dirk took it all in.

“ _Oh_ ,” Dirk said at last. “Oh I see.”

Michael smiled and gestured for Dirk to go on.

“Friedkin was never in charge. _You_ were. But he never read anything and so he had no idea. You used his idiocy to cover how your aunt – the general – had put the department in your hands, and used Friedkin as a puppet figurehead. It was _you_ who figured out how to torture Ken and flip him. And then after I escaped, you realized the best way to get any use of.... of _me_.... of what the Universe does through me, I mean, was to get me to think you cared about me. You never quit Black Wing. You’ve been here on assignment. And now you’ve brought Priest along in case I don’t cooperate. That’s why you dragged me to an island in another country and cornered me in public. He’s not here to hurt _me_ , is he?”

“Not unless he runs out of other targets first.”

“But this is all much too elaborate. I don’t understand – all this for me? I’m no weapon. I can’t spy on anyone or read minds. I’m not worth this much fuss.”

“You _are_ worth it, Dirk. You’re the most important piece of the puzzle. And hey, if I can fuck you on top of it, well then.” He picked up and twirled one of the small cakes, catching the pink sugar crystals in the light. “That’s the icing.”

Dirk grimaced. “So what are the options now? Get raped by a psychopath or Priest slaughters everyone here? That’s absurd. What’s the point?”

“You’re thinking of it like a punishment when it’s merely a transaction. You stay near me, show me how brilliant and handsome you are, and I’ll smooth your way. Keep you out of the bunker. Make sure you have all the support you need on your little cases. Just take me with you and keep me in the loop and I’ll make sure your friends stay out of harm’s way. We don’t have to tell anyone that there’s another layer to our relationship. Boyfriends _and_ coworkers, that’s all anyone needs to know. Make me part of the agency. In return you get a normal, loving relationship and the satisfaction of knowing I’ll be paying Mister Priest to do nothing at all.”

“You’re hoping the other Projects will come to me.”

“They will, in time. Whether you want them to or not, you know that.”

Dirk reached his breaking point. The fury had built, little by little, until it blocked out all the shame and fear. Until he was made of red fire. It blazed in his chest. Condemn a room full of strangers or betray his friends and the other Projects? He’d sooner die.

He always knew that the lid would blow off his rage some day and that the heat of it would be his own undoing. _So this is how it happens_ , he thought, scanning the room and schooling his face into the false mask of cheer that he’d spent a lifetime cultivating. He leaned in close, putting a hand on Assistent’s arm.

“You’ve got me beat then. Let’s finish here and go back up to the room to discuss details.” _And dig out the L-pill from my hand luggage_ , he thought.

* * *

Riggins had pressed it into his hand one night when he was barely a teenager. It had been a hard week of “training” – their euphemism for the things they put his body and mind through in an attempt to enhance the “psychic abilities” they thought he had. He’d cried himself to sleep for five nights straight. On the sixth night, long after everyone else should have gone except for the guards, Riggins knocked on Dirk’s cell door and quietly let himself in. He’d shown Dirk how to hide the small pouch inside clothing – such as in the lining of a jacket pocket – and warned him not to use it unless he were entirely out of options.

“It won’t hurt,” Riggins had said, his face drawn and eyes misty. “It will be quick and painless. But you must promise me you won’t use it unless your...” he swallowed. “Unless your _going_ will save others. Never ever use it to save only yourself.” He’d lingered a moment, something more on the tip of his tongue. Then he shook his head, patted Dirk paternally on the shoulder, and let himself out again.

It was the first inkling Dirk had had that he might escape someday, that there could be a day when he wasn’t caged and would need to make his own decisions about his fate. That he’d have others to care about so much that he would die for them. By now he’d been flying after the dream of freedom for so long that the pull between hope and hopelessness – between the sun and the sea – became the theme of his unending nightmares.

* * *

“Priest will always be nearby,” Assistent warned him. “I can signal him in an instant.”

“I’ve no doubt,” Dirk said. “So I’m yours for as long as I can do you any good. Anything I can do, I will, if it keeps the others safe.”

Assistent grinned broadly. “Haven’t I always said you were a clever, beautiful boy? You’re nearly perfect, Dirk. Capable and kind, and gorgeous besides. Such a good boy.” He lifted his glass toward Dirk, “to our special relationship,” he said.

Dirk picked up his own glass. It felt unreal between his fingers. He was weightless, in freefall toward the concrete surface of the ocean. It was all out of his hands now. This was where the Universe had taken him. He glanced about the room as he clinked their glasses together.

That was the moment he saw the god exit the elevator.

 _Thor_.

And behind him, Farah.

_And Todd._

Dirk’s heart leapt into his mouth as they locked eyes.

* * *

If you had asked him to recount how it all went down, Dirk could – at best – have mumbled a dozen garbled sentences about the confusion, the motion, and the utter chaotic swiftness with which it had all happened. In his memories it wasn’t even defined enough to be a blur. He could blame it on the combination of Dramamine and gin (in retrospect it was a terrible idea to have mixed the two), but the truth was that he’d been so fixated on Todd that nothing else existed. Not Thor or the way he “escorted” Priest out, entirely unnoticed by anyone in the room. Not Farah’s steady, half-whispered promises to Assistent that had caused him to blanch and gag. All Dirk knew was the jubilant thrumming of disbelief that they were here. They had come for him. _Todd_ had come for him. And it wasn’t a dream this time.

All of his clear memories of the escape centered on Todd. Todd’s warm, calloused hand enclosing around his own. The bluest blue of his eyes, wide with urgent panic. The way he steadied Dirk at the elbow when Dirk had nearly tripped powerwalking out of the hotel. How he hadn’t let go of Dirk’s hand all the way down to the docks, where he pointed out a waiting boat with a trailboard that read, simply, _Mona_.

He did, however, recall the crack of thunder and the blinding thunderbolt that erupted from a clear sky over the hotel as they boarded the gangplank. Farah told him not to think or worry about it, so he didn’t.

Except, now and then, with a little surge of relief.

* * *

Farah had said she needed to make a detour on the way back to the office, leaving Dirk and Todd to take a cab alone. Mona had seemed content to stay at the harbour, or at least she hadn’t changed into anything else when they told her where they were headed. She’d make her own way back, they knew, when she was done being a boat.

They rode in silence, just as they had the entire ride back from Victoria. Dirk had slipped in and out of consciousness, sleeping off the adrenaline and sedatives, with his head nestled on Todd’s shoulder. Farah had insisted he be swaddled into one of the ship’s wool blankets to help ward off shock. Between that and Todd at his side he felt so safe that he hadn’t stayed awake long enough even to feel the boat launch. In the occasional moments when he _was_ awake he tried to keep his breathing even and feign sleep so that he wouldn’t have to sit up. Sure, it was selfish. There’d be time to feel bad about it later because there was going to _be_ a later.

* * *

The tears caught him off guard.

They’d settled into the office, Dirk on the sofa and Todd in a desk chair he’d wheeled over so that they could sit face-to-face. It was the first chance Dirk had had to really look at Todd since their fight. (And the fight before that.) Dirk took in the concern, the compassion, all the grooves and canyons of worry carved across Todd’s expression and that was what, finally, caused him to break down.

Todd didn’t say a thing. He simply gathered Dirk into his arms and held him until all the terror, regret, and mortification had been shed. When they parted, Todd rubbed the last of the teardrops from Dirk’s cheek with his thumbs and waited until Dirk was ready to talk.

Dirk sniffled. “I’m so sorry. Please, please forgive me.”

Todd stared a moment. “Forgive you? Are you joking?”

“I didn’t mean.... You were right and I... Oh god, what a mess I made of everything. And then you had to – how did you find Thor?” It wasn’t the most pressing issue, merely the safest one that came to mind.

“I had a pararibulitis attack and he sort of, um. It was Mona’s idea. She had me pull him through the... uh. Christ, you know, I’m not entirely sure. I was being electrocuted. She told me to reach through the lightning. Next thing I know there’s this barn-sized thundergod in the middle of a cafe that nobody could see except me and Mona. Farah didn’t believe us until she saw the marks where his helmet had scraped the ceiling.” Todd held Dirk’s gaze for several seconds. “You have nothing in the world to be sorry for.”

The image of Todd swam a bit as more tears started to gather. Dirk blinked them away as best he could.

“Dirk, listen. I love you.” He drew in a great breath, working up to a speech that had been rewritten and rehearsed many, many times. “I should have told you that I was jealous of that guy. I should have said that I didn’t want to see you with him. He seemed really nice at first, but then I heard about all the kinds of stuff he did –“ Todd stopped. “Wait, why was _Priest_ there?”

 _Maybe I'm not only one who needs to take it in small steps_ , Dirk thought.

“Assistent was still working for Black Wing.”

“So Farah was right!”

“She _knew_? What am I saying, of course she knew. She’s amazing.”

“I mean, not that exactly, but she said something about rankings not adding up?”

“She’s smarter than any of us.”

Todd ran a hand along the back of his neck and finally, _finally_ smiled. “Yeah.” It came out as a chagrined chuckle.

“Anyway, I didn’t want you to think that I was trying to keep you from dating, or whatever. I mean, yeah, I hated it, but I wanted to see you happy. And then, I dunno. It all kept blowing up.”

Rain pelted against the windowpanes as the last of the grey light faded on the horizon. Dirk listened to it for a few moments, clearing his mind.

“You said you loved me.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” It was playful.

“I was wrong to accuse you of being selfish. I was so afraid you were right, or that I’d make you uncomfortable if I let on how I felt. I thought maybe I could get over you if I dated someone else. I thought it was unfair to stop me from trying to get over you. Didn’t you know that I loved you back? I thought I was so obvious.”

“I didn’t know it until now, no. I just hope I’m not the fallback option now that you’re no longer being pursued by a megalomaniacal government operative.”

“Todd.” Dirk rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward conspiratorially. “You’ve been my first choice from the beginning.”

Todd mimicked the posture, his tone flavored with the goofy smile he wore. “How could I know you were interested if you didn’t say anything?”

“You two are a pair of dumbasses,” Farah offered from the door. In one hand she balanced a cardboard tray of hot drinks, in the other an enormous takeaway bag that smelled of carbs and butter. “You’ve made up now, so kiss already and then we can have crumpets.”

“ _You brought me crumpets?_ ” Dirk squeaked.

“And tea. White, four sugars, extra hot.” She held the tray out for him to take.

“Todd, darling, I’m leaving you for Farah.”

Todd’s deep, full-body laugh lit Dirk up from soul to skin. “Can’t say I blame you. Can I still be your assistant, though?”

“Partner, Todd. Let us never use the A-word again.”

* * *

> _A learning experience is one of those things that say, ‘You know that thing you just did? Don’t do that.’_
> 
> **Douglas Adams, Interview in _The Daily Nexus_ (5 April 2000), Reprinted in The Salmon of Doubt**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really hard to write, y’all. It meant revisiting some of my own experiences that I’d made a point of forgetting about and doing deep reading on the types of behaviors that people like dark!Assistent would engage in. There were a number of days where I wrote one sentence and then walked away from it to reflect. 
> 
> Any resemblance between dark!Assistent and real people is purely coincidental, I’m sure. ;) Monsters all tend to see the world in similar ways, making them monstrous in similar ways. I hope it also brings to light the abuse issues that guys – both allo/cishet and GSRM – can face in relationships. Like eating disorders, abuse isn’t dependent on demographic even if awareness and help so often are.

**Author's Note:**

> If I’m reading the charts correctly, a lieutenant is above both a sergeant (Friedkin’s initial rank in S1) and a corporal (how he’s addressed in S2). However! Friedkin wore a captain’s uniform in S2, which is above lieutenant in rank. But, y’know, it seems likely to me that Friedkin would simply have the wrong uniform on and not know the difference. Or that he actually is a captain but either doesn’t know it or doesn’t know that he outranks a lieutenant, given what a himbo he is. I haven’t got any experience with these kinds of things, though, so I’ve been relying on Google and how I think the characters would act if my assumptions were true. I’m probably wrong. Anyway, assuming that it’s at least somewhat correct, Farah would have known _immediately_ that Assistent was a higher rank than Friedkin, from the very second he was introduced. To complicate matters, “supervisor” seems to be a mid-level position in the CIA, which doesn’t have comparable military-style ranks, so it’s all very fuzzy to me what the overlap is (which may very well be the point). At any rate, Lt. Assistent would almost certainly outrank Supervisor Adams (i.e., Ken) in truth if not in name after S2 if he stayed with BW, if only by virtue of seniority. Official overseer of BW seems to be an almost sacrificial position anyhow, and that certainly will be Ken’s fate when Bart gets loose.
> 
> I also realize that I’ve taken some staggering liberties with the Lt. Assistent character that were in no way indicated in the canon. Here’s my reasoning: I hate hate hate hate hate the idea of someone putting our lovely Dirk with one of his former torturers, as was the plan for S3. It’s just so icky and Stockholm Syndromey. So I asked myself, _what kind of utter, utter bastard would do such a thing?_ Then he sprang into being fully-formed, like an Athenian vision of villainy. 
> 
> That said, it took me nearly an entire year to think of an ending for this story. Every solution I came up with sounded either too serious or too simple. Then, about two months ago I was on the phone with my best friend, complaining about it as one inevitably does. “What I need is a _deus ex machina_ ending that is ‘believable’ – at least in the scope of an adapted Adamsian Gentlyverse – and yet so absurd as to be on-brand …. Oh. OH.” Then I ran into the other room to start taking notes and only got around to texting my friend two hours later to explain why I didn’t say even goodbye. Luckily he’s used to my quirks by now.
> 
> I’m putting the smutty bits in separate but related works, in case anyone is strongly pro- or anti-rated E stuff. Should be along shortly. I’ve been plugging away at them while I work on the plot stuff.
> 
> Last thing: The hotel is based on The Empress in Victoria, BC. They do an afternoon tea that is absurdly expensive but a fascinating experience if someone else is footing the bill. They really do have the color-changing purple gin – it’s called Empress 1908 and can be found in other countries (check their website for retail locations) or mailed to places in the States/Canada where it’s legal to do so. Please drink responsibly, etc. <3 And again, reach out for help if you need it. I'm here. Hell, I'm here even if you don't need help.


End file.
